


Beautiful

by Dead_girl_walking711



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Veronica Sawyer, F/F, Internalized Homophobia, Lesbian Heather Chandler, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship, asexual heather duke, bisexual heather mcnamara, heather chandler is less awful than canon, heather chandler is soft for veronica, minor betty finn/martha dunnstock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dead_girl_walking711/pseuds/Dead_girl_walking711
Summary: For once in her life Veronica actually manages to grasp the hidden meaning behind Heather’s words. They both sit in silence, watching the other for any hint of movement. It’s so quiet Veronica would swear she can hear the pounding of Heather’s heart- or maybe it’s her own, threatening to burst out from her chest. Surely she doesn’t- not Heather Chandler, heterosexuality personified. No, she tells herself when Heather’s eyes flicker down to her lips, she definitely does. The swirling thoughts going through the back of her mind bring her back to that day two months in the bathroom when she was forced to make the life altering decision to become a Heather. So many thoughts fly through her mind and there isn’t enough time to make sense of them. Should she? She really shouldn’t. Does she want to? God, she thinks she does.Or, pretty soon after Veronica is accepted as a Heather she starts to notice how much Heather stares at her.
Relationships: Heather Chandler & Heather Duke, Heather Chandler & Heather Duke & Heather McNamara, Heather Chandler & Heather McNamara, Heather Chandler & Veronica Sawyer, Heather Chandler/Veronica Sawyer, Heather Duke & Veronica Sawyer, Heather McNamara & Veronica Sawyer, Kurt Kelly/Heather McNamara, Martha Dunnstock/Betty Finn
Comments: 5
Kudos: 90





	Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is my first ever fic. I've read an embarrassing number of ChanSaw fics and am guilty of being completely obsessed with them.  
> In my head Veronica is movie Veronica as played by Winona Ryder while Chandler is based on the West End version of her character, mostly because I am smitten with Jodie Steele. In this fic Heather Chandler is less of a complete bitch but still rules Westerberg with an iron fist. The Heathers are less horrible to Martha and so there's no note from Ram, no pinata etc. There probably won't be very much of JD either, and no major character deaths.  
> If for some reason you actually enjoy this comments are super appreciated!

Dear Diary  
I believe I’m a good person. You know, I think there’s good in everyone. But- here we are! First day of Senior Year. When I got in this morning I took a look around at the kids I’ve known my entire life and wondered- what happened? 

The bathroom door swings open, and Veronica instantly feels her heart sink. She silently lowers her pen. There’s no mistaking the distinct clicking of heels and the voices that accompany them. Someone races towards the stall next to her before the sounds of retching echo around the room.  
“Grow up, Heather. Bulimia is so ’87.” Well, that’s definitely Heather Chandler. Her voice is regal, almost; every word enunciated perfectly. Veronica huffs quietly and closes the notebook in her lap. Sure, she had intended on skipping first period- French- to write alone in the bathroom, but now that the Heathers are here there’s no guarantee how long they’re gonna stay. So long as they didn’t notice her….  
“Maybe you should see a doctor,” another softer voice chimes in. Veronica assumes that to be Heather McNamara, perhaps the least dislikeable of the trio. They’ve never spoken to her- any of them- but the image she has built up in her head of the short blonde is that she’s mostly harmless. A bit ditsy and certainly not the brightest, but not nearly as cruel as the other two.  
The girl in the stall next to Veronica ceases retching for a moment to let out a terse, “Maybe I should, Heather,” before she resumes vomiting once again. Heather Duke, Veronica’s personal least favourite Heather. While they’ve never been associates she knows the green Heather was once Martha’s close friend and to see how she treats her now makes Veronica’s blood curdle. Sometimes it’s as if she has a personal vendetta against her former friend, deliberately targeting her in her malicious taunting. Duke has no discernible personality as far as Veronica can tell. Her entire person is moulded in the image of Heather Chandler.  
Before one of the other two can reply the bathroom door opens once again and Veronica listens as what can only be Ms. Fleming hums in delight. “Ah, Heather and Heather-,” Duke vomits into the toilet, “-and Heather. Perhaps you didn’t hear the bell over all the vomiting. You’re late for class. Week’s detention.”  
Heather Chandler splutters indignintly. “My parents pay your salary,” she snarls. Veronica lifts a hand to disguise her sudden snort while at the same time something in her mind clicks. As the Heathers continue to berate Fleming she reaches into her bag and pulls out a notepad, quickly scribbling down a few lines in Mr. Murphy’s handwriting before rushing out of the stall.  
“Actually, Ms. Fleming, the four of us are all out on a Hall Pass.” McNamara jumps in surprise and all three heads turn towards her. “Year Book Committee.”  
Fleming holds out a hand and takes the note from her, scanning over it. “I see you’re all listed.” She sounds almost disappointed before she hands Veronica back the note and then turns on her heels and heads for the door. “Hurry up and get where you’re going.”  
Veronica holds her breath until the door slams shut behind her. She doesn’t need to look at the other two to know they’re studying her. She can almost feel Chandler’s grey eyes burning into her skull as she reaches across and snatches the note from her before holding it up for inspection. “This is an excellent forgery,” she muses. “Who are you?”  
Veronica knows that her face is flushed. She raises her eyes to meet those that are watching her intently and finds there is a glint in them that she hadn’t expected. It could well be that the other girl is actually impressed. “Veronica,” she replies, trying to keep her voice from stammering. “Er- Veronica Sawyer.” She swallows hard. “I crave a boon.”  
The corner of Chandler’s lips quirk up. “What boon?”  
“Um. Let me sit at your table. Just once, no talking necessary.” Veronica shuffles on the spot. “If people think you guys tolerate me then they’ll leave me alone.” All three Heathers chortle- even Duke from the stall behind them. “Before you answer I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes.”  
“What about prescriptions?”  
“Shut up Heather.” Chandler steps forward, those intense eyes flickering over her face. Veronica can’t help but feel rather vulnerable, almost like an animal at the zoo, as the most popular girl Westerberg has ever seen analyses her. Her lips are pursed together as if she’s deep in thought and when Veronica inhales deeply she can smell the perfume clinging to her. Citrus, she guesses. Normally strong fragrances leave her with a reeling headache, clogging up her senses and choking the air around her, but this scent seems natural- pleasing, even. “You know, for a greasy little nobody you do have excellent bone structure.”  
“And a symmetrical face. If I took a meat cleaver down the centre of your skull I’d have matching halves. That’s very important.”  
Veronica blinks twice before raising an eyebrow. “Um- thanks?”  
The stall behind them opens up and Veronica glances over her shoulder. Duke glowers at her but refuses to meet her eyes. “You could stand to lose a few pounds,” she bristles, and Veronica fights the urge to roll her eyes. When she turns back around she sees that Chandler is still staring at her and after a moment her mouth stretches into something resembling a smile. It lacks the malice and sardonic edge that Veronica would have expected from the Demon Queen even if it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Still, there’s a hint of genuineness there, and that thought makes Veronica’s heart unwillingly skip a beat.  
“Mascara…” she mutters, as if to herself, “Some lip gloss… You know… This could be beautiful. Heather, give me your brush-,” she snaps her fingers in McNamara’s direction, “-and Heather I need your blush-,”  
Veronica blinks rapidly. “Wha- Wait, what?”  
“Are you even listening?” Chandler asks. She cocks her head to the side and her lips curl into a conceited smile. “I’m going to give you a makeover.”  
“Oh.” Veronica frowns. “You are?”  
Chandler scans her over once again. “You don’t really think we’d be seen dead with you in your current state. Judging by the state of this… ‘outfit’ you’re wearing, I’m guessing your entire wardrobe is going to need an overhaul.” She traces her fingers over Veronica’s scarf lightly, and Veronica gulps. “You know, I see no reason for us to hang around here much longer. Shopping trip, Heathers?”  
The other two Heathers exclaim in excitement, McNamara bouncing giddily next to her. “Oh, Veronica! Heather’s going to make you look amazing. She gives the best makeovers.”  
Veronica shakes her head. What’s happening? All she wanted was one lunch with the Barbie Brigade to get the bullies off her back, not a makeover. Not a shopping trip. “Um, that sounds nice and all, but-,”  
Chandler scoffs. “You’re not going to turn down a chance to join the most elite clique in the school, are you?”  
“But, I- You guys don’t know anything about me. I could be a stalker, or I dunno-,”  
“We know plenty about you. Your name is Veronica and you’re good at forgery!” McNamara beams at her. “And you’re really smart. You were in my History class last year and if you were a boy I definitely would’ve made you do my homework for me. You always got everything right!”  
“Oh, well, thanks. But I mean- it’s the first day of school, and-,”  
“You were hiding in a bathroom stall during first period. Don’t bother saying your attendance matters.”  
Well, there’s no lie there. Veronica does consider herself to have a rather good attendance record compared to the rest of the year but some classes just aren’t worth the effort. She’d learn a lot more French in Spanish class than she would listening to Mr. Murphy drone on for an hour.  
Knowing all three Heathers are waiting on an answer Veronica quickly calculates her options. She can turn down their invitation and resume life as a nobody- the nobody who turned down the Heathers. While the trio have never personally victimised her before, generally preferring to target Martha or even Betty on occasion, she knows they wouldn’t take kindly to being rejected. Or, she can say yes to their shopping trip. She can let Heather Chandler transform her into something resembling a popular girl, sit at their table, forge their notes. She can become a Heather and never be ignored or insulted ever again. Hell, she can even protect Martha and Betty from the inside. All she has to do was befriend the golden trio of Westerberg. McNamara is likeable. Duke is a bitch, but she can tolerate her. And Chandler… Veronica isn’t entirely sure what to make of the red Heather beyond what she has always known. She is as beautiful as she is powerful, and Veronica quakes beneath her.  
Come June everything will be behind her. All of this will come to an end so soon. All she has to do is pull through until then. Life in Westerberg, well- it could be beautiful.  
Her eyes meet Chandler’s once again and she can see something bubbling in them. Hope? That seems ridiculous. Expectation? Nervousness? Maybe her perfume is making her feel a little dizzy after all. “Alright,” she eventually decides. “Alright. I’ll come shopping with you.”  
McNamara cheers, throwing Veronica off completely when she suddenly pulls her in for a hug. Veronica laughs and makes a feeble attempt at hugging her back, even when she hears Duke audibly scoff behind her. And then Chandler meets her gaze again- that acute stare, those icy grey depths. Veronica’s stomach lurches at the blonde girl’s smirk. It’s undeniably smug and self satisfied, and Veronica finds herself wondering briefly why her acceptance is so important to the Demon Queen. But then Duke thrusts her notebook at her and orders her to get working on their absence notes, and Veronica wonders if this decision is either the best, or worst, she has ever made.

#

Life as a Heather is, for lack of a better word, exhausting.  
In the past Veronica always followed a rather chilled out routine. She woke up at an acceptable hour with enough time for breakfast and made it to school early enough to spend some time chatting to her friends. She attended most of her classes and skipped the ones she thought to be a waste of time, and when school ended she headed back home to get started on her studies. She ate dinner, usually with her parents, spent some time in the evening listening to music, and if she wasn’t too tired she might relax with a movie. She went to bed around eleven, maybe, and never had much trouble sleeping. On a Friday she met up with Betty and Martha. Most weekends they had a sleepover, and then she would split the rest of Saturday and Sunday between her homework and her reading. Her life wasn’t what anyone would consider exciting but it suited Veronica. She never hurried anywhere, and her life was marked by a sense of ease and serenity.  
These days Veronica can barely remember what such an existence felt like. In order to complete her makeup to Heathers standards she needs to wake up around six for her shower, and rarely has time for breakfast before Chandler arrives to pick her up. They spend most of the morning talking in the bathroom, attend a couple of classes here and there before lunch. At lunch they sit in the same seats everyday and flirt with some of the football team if they come over before Chandler and another Heather head off to do the lunchtime poll. After lunch they might do a little bit of schooling before inevitably bunking off early, at which point they either head to the mall or to someone’s house (never Veronica’s). They play croquet and go out for fancy dinners every few evenings, and at the weekend they generally attend a party or two. On Sunday they usually allow her to do some homework and study, before Monday rolls around and it starts all over again. Veronica spends more time in the Heather’s company than she does on her own now.  
Veronica can barely remember the last time she sat down to relax with her parents.  
The first two months pass by in a flash, and while it does wear her down, Veronica won’t deny that this is by far the best time she has ever had in school. Going from the bottom to the top of the proverbial food chain in one morning was a lot easier than she might have expected, and she knows popularity suits her. Everyone smiles at her in the corridors when they step away to let her pass, and hot footballers offer to carry her books. Girls are jealous of her, boys want her, and their eyes follow her everywhere she goes. Being part of the Heathers is more like a full time profession than an actual friendship but after a while she has to admit that she might actually enjoy their company. McNamara is, as she expected, sweet and considerate. She’s a ball of sunshine and by far the kindest of the clique. Veronica generally has no qualms doing her homework for her and helping her out with a bit of study and finds that while she isn’t very good- or good at all- with school work she’s actually a highly perceptive person. She reads others quite easily and is exceptional at calming Chandler down when her temper inevitably rises with Duke.  
Duke intrigues Veronica. She is far more intelligent than she lets on to be and when her head isn’t bent over a toilet bowl it’s usually in a book. Sometimes her snide remarks and witty comments actually manage to make Veronica laugh- until, of course, one glare from Chandler shuts her up. They haven’t connected in the same way she has with McNamara but then- Duke is almost impenetrable. No matter how hard Veronica tries she refuses to engage in anything resembling a personal conversation and generally tries to ignore her attempts at friendliness.  
Heather Chandler is almost always on Veronica’s mind these days. The Head Bitch is far more of an enigma than her green understudy is, and it infuriates Veronica that she can’t seem to crack her. It catches her off guard, sometimes; she’ll be chatting to McNamara, or listening in class, and then she’ll feel those eyes on her. Those profound grey eyes watching her closely- every little action. Sometimes Chandler will smirk at her then- she’s always bloody smirking- or she’ll raise an eyebrow and force Veronica to look away even though she isn’t the one staring to begin with. To her constant surprise they actually get along well. Chandler is funny when she isn’t being purposefully nasty, and smarter than she would have expected. Quick witted, sharp. She knows that Chandler finds her amusing too even if she never would admit it, what with the mirth that dances in her eyes when Veronica says something particularly stupid. She seems to get a rise out of winding her up and often goes out of her way to make her flustered; If Veronica winces in her car she makes sure to steer up onto the sidewalk, or if Veronica is trying to concentrate during a game of croquet she’ll come right up to her and blow in her face.  
More often than not Veronica has to remind herself that the girl in question is Heather Chandler. She isn’t just a mythic entity, she’s a mythic bitch. She’s demon in red, a terror in the halls of Westerberg High. She’s the same girl who made her best friends lives hell for years on end. But good God she is gorgeous. How can someone so cruel be so stunningly beautiful, so charming? Because that’s what she is- she’s charming. Anytime Veronica feels her patience wear thin Chandler will say or do something she can’t help but find endearing, and any animosity she holds towards her just melts away. It’s infuriating.  
Truth be told the Heathers haven’t been nearly as cruel to Martha or Betty since she joined them as they were in the past. While she’s very rarely allowed to spend much time with her old friends the Heathers seemingly decided (without her present) to target what they deemed “The Loser Squad” a little less. Sure, they still make jokes about them to Ram and Kurt and throw around the occasional comment but Veronica hasn’t once heard them directly target her friends since the very first day she joined them.  
Overall, she would go so far as to consider her career as a Heather a veritable success.  
The only real flaw that comes with being a Heather- other than the busy schedule, the missed classes, the lack of time spent with loved ones, the death rides to school, the strict dress code, the barely disguised bullying, the constant stares, the excruciating trips to the mall- is the fact that Veronica knows she has to keep up with the elite social scene. Over the course of her first two months as a Heather she manages to avoid any of the bigger parties held by members of the football team with some well timed excuses, and the two that she does attend, she does so without alcohol. Unfortunately such an action is noticed by Chandler and she’s none too pleased about it.  
“Next party,” she warns, “You’re having a fucking drink.”  
Veronica isn’t brave enough to say no.  
She doesn’t have a problem with alcohol. In fact, the one time she, Betty, and Martha stole some wine coolers from Betty’s parents, she had actually enjoyed it. Partying with the Heathers, however… She knows that’s a different story entirely. It isn’t that she’s afraid, necessarily. Veronica knows all about responsible drinking. You pace yourself, you don’t mix drinks. You don’t do shots and you don’t take drinks from strangers. On some level she knows that to let loose would be fun, and she is eager to try it. The main reason she declines alcohol is because she wants to get out of those parties as quickly as possible and knows the only way to do that is to stay sober. The party at Country Club Kevin’s house is a nightmare of epic proportions. Everyone’s far too snobby for her liking, and not snobby the way the Heathers are. Her escape from that drudgery couldn’t have come quicker and to her surprise Chandler actually gives her permission to leave.  
“This party is as boring as Murphy’s class on a Monday morning. You can leave, if you want- I’m gonna go find Heather.”  
Harry Greene from the basketball team holds the next party two weeks later and while it’s certainly an improvement on Kevin’s, he hosts it in conjunction with his older brother. The house is packed with college age boys who sneer at the girls like they’re meat and Veronica knows better than to ‘let loose’ in their company. Duke stays sober that night too, citing a headache, and all four Heathers head home sometime after midnight.  
Veronica didn’t intend on staying sober at either party but she knows that if she’s going to drink it has to be in a moderately appropriate environment. She wants to wait until the time is right.  
When she tells her that, McNamara stifles a laugh. “You sound like you’re talking about your v-card, V!”  
That, of course, leads Veronica onto another problem. When Ram announces one day at lunch that he’ll be hosting “the party to destroy all parties” that Friday and Veronica assures the others that she’ll join them in drinking that night, McNamara is beside herself with glee.  
They’re making plans for the party later that night when she brings it up. “We’ll have to get you a hook-up tonight,” she squeals, and across the table Chandler’s head immediately shoots up from her lunch tray. She quickly hides the frown that graces her features but not before Veronica notices it flash by. “You’ve been part of the squad for two months now and we still haven’t found you a hot guy!”  
Veronica’s cheeks redden and she chuckles awkwardly. “I don’t- I mean I’m not that pushed.”  
“Never mind Sawyer,” Duke cuts in next to her, her expression unreadable, “We need to get Heather laid, too. How long has it been now- two months?”  
Chandler’s eyes darken as she shoots Duke a terrifying glare. “Shut up, Heather. I’m perfectly capable of getting myself laid, if I want to. Just because I have standards-,”  
Duke cocks her head to the side. “You do? That’s news to me.”  
McNamara giggles. “Heather won’t need our help finding a boy, Heather! It’s Veronica we need to worry about.”  
Veronica rolls her eyes, regretting, not for the first time, accidentally disclosing her status as a virgin to the other girls a few weeks previously. Chandler had snorted- “Is that supposed to surprise anyone?”- and since then they have made a habit of constantly bringing it up.  
Duke turns around to face her. “Alright then. What’s your type, Sawyer?”  
“My- type?”  
“Yes, your type. What type of guy are you into?”  
Veronica frowns, her forehead creasing. She steals a quick glance around the cafeteria at the different types of guys- the jocks, the country club kids, the nerds, the musicians, the loners- “Well, I- I dunno. I kinda think that guy- Jason, I think his name is?- I think he’s alright.”  
Chandler, who is busy glaring at Duke, throws her a look of disgust. Her nose wrinkles up. “Jason Dean? Like- JD, school shooter JD? The one who pulled a gun on Ram and Kurt on his first day?”  
“Um… Yeah.” Veronica glances at him again. He’s sitting alone near the back of the hall, eating quietly. “Yeah. Him.”  
Duke sniggers. “Christ, Sawyer. What the fuck is wrong with you? He clearly has more issues than the rest of the school combined. One of these days he’s gonna come in and open fire on all of us.”  
“Shut up Heather. Even if it is true. That’s seriously your type. Sawyer? Dark, damaged, and deranged?”  
“I just think he’s attractive, is all. I like his smile, and his style-,”  
“He’s wearing a fucking trenchcoat.”  
Across from her McNamara smiles, reaching out to touch her hand. Chandler’s eyes flicker down as McNamara squeezes reassuringly. “It’s okay if that’s what you’re into, V! I mean- he’s hardly gonna be at Ram’s but we can work with that.”  
In truth Veronica really isn’t sure what draws her to JD. While she, Martha, and Betty discussed boys from time to time it was usually Martha doing the talking, and then, the discussion was aimed at Ram Sweeney, who really can’t be less attractive. Maybe it’s strange that she’s never really considered what kind of boy she likes but it isn’t as if it ever mattered; there’s no one for her in Westerberg, she knows that much. Watching TV and movies it has always registered with her that an actor is hot but no more so than with the actresses, and Veronica has never really understood what having a celebrity crush entails. Honestly, her ‘type’ just isn’t something she ever thinks about. But JD… Well, he’s new. He’s handsome in a very unconventional way, with deep eyes and sideswept black hair. He’s nothing like any other boy she has ever encountered in Sherwood Ohio and surely that means something. At the very least, it has to mean more than nothing.  
The rest of the afternoon passes by quickly, and as soon as the final bell rings Veronica is ushered out the door into Chandler’s red Porsche, the other girl chastising her for being so slow. As always she climbs into the passenger seat and immediately utters a silent prayer before reaching across for her seatbelt.  
Chandler is quiet on the way home- far quieter than normal. Veronica watches her closely from the corner of her eye and sees that her forehead is still creased together in that same frown from lunchtime, and her bright red lips are pursed together.  
“Everything alright?” She asks. Chandler doesn’t avert her eyes from the road.  
“Peachy.”  
“You’re a bit… quiet. Or something.”  
“So?”  
“So do you wanna… talk about it?” It feels oddly discomforting, thinking of Heather Chandler as a person with problems and emotions beyond superiority, smugness, and impatience.  
“What are you, my therapist?”  
“No.” Veronica frowns. “I’m your… friend. I guess.”  
Heather snorts. “You don’t sound so sure of yourself there, Sawyer.”  
“Well, you’re a hard person to read. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m your friend or like, your co-worker or something. Or if you just keep me around for my forgery.”  
“Why couldn’t it be all three at once?” They pull to an abrupt halt outside Veronica’s house- another journey in Chandler’s death machine survived. Veronica fumbles with her seatbelt and opens the door, throwing Heather a thin smile which is met with a sardonic smirk. “I’ll be back over in two hours or so.”  
“Two hours? What-,”  
“To get you ready for the party, moron.”  
“Oh. Are you… why?”  
“You hardly think we’re letting you get ready by yourself, do you? I’m not tainting my reputation showing up to Ram’s with a girl in that awful fucking scarf you wore when we met.”  
“I don’t even have that scarf anymore! You took it and said you were gonna burn it.”  
“Whatever. I’ll be over to pick your clothes, do your makeup… If we have enough time I might try something with your hair, though I’m not sure there’s enough hours in the day to manage that. Really, Sawyer- you need to learn how to condition. Oh! And make sure you have some BQ nuts for me!”

#

“You didn’t get the BQ nuts, did you?”  
Veronica closes the door after her, flushing red. “Um… No.” Heather scoffs and pushes past her into the bedroom, heading straight for Veronica’s closet. She eyes it suspiciously, looking up and down.  
“Where’s the rest of it?”  
“Rest of what?”  
“The rest of your closet, dimwit.”  
“That’s… it?”  
Heather raises one of her sleek, perfect eyebrows. “You fit all of your clothes in that?”  
“Yeah. Not all of us have a walk-in wardrobe. Or a whole separate room to keep all their shit in.”  
“Well. Finding you something to wear shouldn’t take too long at all.”  
It does, in fact, take too long. Heather empties the wardrobe and tosses Veronica’s clothes on the bed, going through them twice and sorting them into little piles. While she works in silence Veronica perches on the edge of her own bed feeling peculiarly out of place in her own room. She knows better than to complain about why it’s taking nearly an hour to find an acceptable outfit when she has already attended two parties with the Heathers in clothes of her own choosing and gotten by fine. Eventually, Heather surrenders.  
“This is a complete waste of time. The only acceptable thing you own is the fucking blazer and skirt I bought you.”  
“Um… Should I wear that?”  
“Jesus Christ, Sawyer, you wear that to school.”  
“Why don’t I just wear the dress I wore to Kevin’s?”  
“You mean the rags my Great Aunt Morticia was buried in? No, you can’t fucking wear that. You looked like something dragged out of a cemetery to scare kids on Halloween. I knew this would happen!”  
Veronica opens her mouth to respond but before she can Heather reaches down for the bag she had brought with her and pulls out a short navy dress, holding it up for inspection. It’s gorgeous- even Veronica knows that. Heather smirks. “Luckily, I came prepared.”  
“Oh. Is that for me?”  
“No, it’s for one of the Teddy Bears you stashed away under the bed thinking I wouldn’t find them. Of course it’s for you. You know I don’t wear navy.”  
“If you don’t wear navy why do you just have a spare navy dress lying around?”  
Heather rolls her eyes. “Because I bought it for you. Honestly, Sawyer- you’re meant to be the nerd of the group and yet I’m yet to see you use that brain of yours once.”  
“Wha- Heather- I- You didn’t have to-,”  
“Apparently I did.”  
“No, but I mean- I could have paid for it-,”  
“If you paid for this dress your family would go without food for a week.”  
“Okay, that’s an exaggeration. I just mean, I can pay for some stuff. You don’t have to buy me everything.”  
Veronica isn’t really bothered by the fact that Chandler is constantly tossing away money on her. When they go out for dinner she generally foots the bill for all four of them even though the other two Heathers could probably afford to buy the entire restaurant twice over with their pocket money. But everything else- Chandler is forever reaching into her own pocket to cover Veronica’s purchases, dismissing her with a wave. Her family are far from poor, she knows, but without Chandler there’s no way in hell Veronica would be able to keep up with the lavish lifestyle enjoyed by her new friends. Her parents might have raised her to be proud and independent but when it comes to Chandler spending money on her it feels so different to anything that could actually be labelled charity. It’s touching in a way to know that Chandler likes her enough to spend money on her, even if it means nothing to the other girl. The first time Veronica mentioned it Chandler simply laughed and told her that she could buy her house ten times over and it still wouldn’t make a dent in Daddy’s bank account.  
Anyway, if being a Heather is a full time job, it can’t wrong to accept a salary.  
After Heather finishes her makeup Veronica heads to the bathroom to change into her dress and when she returns she finds that Heather had also taken the opportunity to change into an impossibly tight red chest with a distractingly low neckline- if that could be called a neckline. Veronica looks her over and feels her mouth dry and her pulse speed up, a blush tinging her cheeks. Heather’s tanned legs seem to go on for days and while her school blazers are always tailored and complimentary they couldn’t dare do justice to her actual figure, exposed as it is now. She’s easily the most beautiful person Veronica has ever laid eyes on- celebrity or otherwise- and it kills her that Heather knows it.  
“You look… Good.” She mumbles, swallowing hard. Heather’s smirk grows even more smug, if that’s possible. Veronica’s so distracted taking her in that she hasn’t processed Heather do the same to her. There’s a glint in her eyes as she steps forward, motioning with a finger for Veronica to turn around.  
“Almost ready,” she muses, and then motions towards the desk. “Now sit. We haven’t got much time left for your hair.”  
“Do we really need to do something with it?”  
“Come on, let me just curl the ends of it or something.”  
“What’s the point? You know I don’t-,”  
“Sawyer,” She whines, picking up the curling iron. “Come on. Don’t be stubborn.”  
“I’m not stubborn.”  
But then Heather reaches out and touches her wrist lightly and the argument is won, just like that.  
She sits in her desk chair and Heather begins to comb her fingers through her fluffy hair, occasionally scraping along her scalp. And she likes it, likes it so much that she’d let her do anything she wants- a princess braid or a fancy updo or a mullet, if she really set her mind to it-absolutely anything at all, so long as her hands stay where they are.  
Veronica’s own hands are shaking as she reaches over for her glass.  
“Stay still. I don’t wanna burn the back of your neck.”  
“Hurry up then. I’m thirsty.”  
In the mirror Heather frowns down at her. “You’re so fucking impatient.”  
“I’m bored.”  
She rolls her eyes before combing through her hair one final time, letting it fall in loose waves around her shoulders. Heather bends down, studying them both up close in the mirror, and Veronica’s heart skips when a small smile spreads across her face, lighting up her eyes- small, but genuine. She squeezes her shoulder lightly and Veronica almost reaches out to touch her, to stop her from pulling away. She wants her to stand over her, as she was, for a little longer. She wants to keep looking at them both, their reflections quiet and contented.  
What the fuck is wrong with her?  
“You know, you don’t look half bad tonight,” Heather comments as she stands up, and Veronica clenches her fingers to keep to reaching out. Instead, she snorts.  
“Was that a compliment from the Almighty Heather Chandler? Do my ears deceive me?”  
Heather takes one last look in the mirror, checking for at least the sixth time that her makeup, hair, and clothing are in place. Her strawberry blonde locks curl around each other, flowing over her shoulders and back.  
Perfect, Veronica thinks to herself. She always looks so flawlessly perfect. In the mirror Heather winks at her, clearly aware that she has been staring at her the past few minutes, and Veronica notices how her own cheeks have reddened.  
“Are you done yet?” She sighs, shoving aside her embarrassment. “It’s not the fucking Oscars.”  
As she has come to expect, Heather doesn’t respond. She grabs her makeup pouch and shoves it into her handbag before motioning for Veronica to follow, and then begins the short trek to the front door of her house. It’s chilly when they step out onto the porch, chillier than it had been when Chandler arrived.  
“We need to stop at 7/11 for Corn Nuts.”  
Veronica doesn’t try to hide her rather unladylike groan. “We’re already an hour late.”  
“Fashionably late.”  
“Does that even apply if it’s a party?”  
Heather sighs dramatically, throwing her a disappointed look. “You never learn, do you, Sawyer? Appearance matters far more than punctuality does.”  
“Not on a night like this it doesn’t! It’s just a party.”  
“Have you ever seen me leave the house without a full face of makeup on? Correction- have you ever seen me in my own house without a full face of makeup on?”  
Veronica pauses in the middle of the pathway, her brow creased. “I- No.”  
“Exactly. And believe me- you never will.”

#

As parties go Veronica is certain Ram’s one probably registers as top tier. Everyone is drunk- or snockered, as she giggles to McNamara, and as far as she can tell everyone is having a pretty swell time. The music is loud and definitely not something she would ever listen to on her own, but with the beat resounding in her bones she can’t help but whirl the night away on the makeshift dancefloor with kids she’s never really spoken to, screaming along to the lyrics with everybody else. She’s long lost count of the number of drinks she’s had. Every time her cup comes close to emptying Ram is there with another to replace it and she had spent the first hour engaged in a very gripping game of beer pong- one she lost quite badly. She sways in the arms of hot footballers who once upon a time wouldn’t have looked at her twice and takes shots with the cheerleading team. This is what it feels like to fly with the Eagles, of that she is certain. This- this is fucking fun.  
Sometime around midnight Veronica leaves the dancefloor in search of the other Heathers. McNamara is grinding up on Kurt and she knows that Duke is more than likely upstairs- she’s certain she’d seen the green Heather head in that direction after beer pong. Chandler, however- Chandler had lingered at Veronica’s side early on in the night before storming off and hazy as her mind is it suddenly worries Veronica that she hasn’t seen her in a while. Her mood had been good, at the start. Good until the four of them had been chatting together and her content temperament went up in flames.  
“Really nice dress, V,” McNamara had said. “Where’d you get it?”  
“Oh, Heather got it for me.” Veronica had smiled at the other girl. Beside her Duke snorted into her cup.  
“Ah yes. Heather is renowned for her unyielding generosity,” she remarked, rather pointedly at Chandler. Veronica had braced herself for a sharp ‘shut up Heather’ which never actually came. Instead Heather’s lips had creased into a thin line and her eyes had clouded over, and without breaking Duke’s glare she had waved Veronica aside.  
“Why don’t you show Sawyer the swimming pool,” she ordered McNamara and the two of them had left Chandler and Duke alone. When they returned neither girl said anything but Heather’s frown had warned Veronica not to ask. She had hovered nearby for a short while after that before disappearing.  
She finds Heather sitting alone on the landing upstairs, nursing an almost empty bottle of rum. The other girl smiles at her- surprising Veronica because last time she saw her she seemed fairly pissed. But she smiles back and approaches her, eyebrow raised. “What’re you doing up here?”  
“Just taking a breather,” she replies, and takes a quick swig from the bottle. “What are you doing?”  
“Looking for you. You disappeared.”  
“I was bored.”  
“You didn’t do much dancing. You wouldn’t be bored if you danced, you know.”  
“I don’t like dancing.”  
“I’d say you’re a good dancer. You’re really pretty and pretty people are always good dancers.”  
Heather rolls her eyes. “Why are you so bad at it then?”  
Veronica’s forehead crinkles in confusion. “Bad at what?”  
“Jesus, you’re really drunk. Aren’t you?”  
“I’m just having fun.”  
“I’m glad you are.”  
“Are you not?”  
Heather glances away from her with a shrug. “Of course I am. I just… I don’t know. I’m just not in the best mood.”  
If Duke was here she’d make a snide remark about Heather never being in a good mood. One or two jokes rise to her lips but she supresses them, something in Heather’s eyes holding her back. She looks sad- sadder than she should be, at a party. Vulnerable, maybe. It’s a rare occurrence, she knows, for Heather to even give that much away. “Do you wanna talk about it?”  
“Of course not.”  
“You can talk to me about anything. I’m a really good listener.”  
“I’m sure you are. But some thoughts are better kept to yourself.”  
Veronica frowns again because she’s certain there’s nothing that isn’t easier shared. But what does she know? She’s drunk as fuck, and Heather is too. Maybe she’ll talk to her about it some other time. She takes a sip of her drink and smiles at the other girl sloppily. “I’m really glad you let me be your friend,” she says, almost without even thinking it.  
“Why? Because you get to go to parties and dance with hot boys?”  
“Of course not. Because I get to be friends with you.”  
The party feels much further away than it is right now. She’s sitting so close to Heather- close enough that she can smell her perfume. They’re looking at each other very closely and the expression on Heather’s face is so hard to read. It amazes Veronica every time she looks at her how stunning she is, with her grey eyes and her impossibly high cheek bones. She swears she could look at Heather all day and never get bored of her. She’s like a work of art. Sculpted by the gods.  
Heather’s voice catches her off guard when, almost out of nowhere, she mutters softly. “You’re beautiful.”  
It’s as if she says the words out loud without quite meaning to. Veronica’s cheeks grow even redder and her mouth falls open.  
“Wha- You’re always saying that I’m ugly.”  
“Never said that.”  
“Yeah-,”  
“No, I haven’t. I said you dress like shit. But you… You’re beautiful, Sawyer.”  
“Um… Thanks? I mean, I really amn’t-,”  
“You are. When I look at you…” Her voice trails off quietly and she shakes her head. She isn’t smiling but there’s something in her expression that’s almost kind, almost gentle.  
Without even realising it Veronica leans over ever so slightly- close enough that she can see the light smattering of freckles that line Heather’s cheeks. She has never noticed them before.  
“You must be drunk.”  
“Well, obviously. But so are you.”  
Veronica’s eyes flicker over Heather’s face and she feels a knot tighten in the back of her throat. “You’re beautiful too,” she murmurs, and without thinking she lets her eyes close and leans over. She raises a hand to cup Heather’s cheek.  
Somewhere downstairs, there’s a loud sound of something crashing, and that sound drags Veronica back to earth. They’re at a party. They’re drunk.  
They’re sitting on Ram Sweeney’s landing.  
Veronica pulls away sharply and opens her eyes, staring at the girl in front of her. Her chest is heaving and her whole world is shaking. She opens her mouth to say something but then Heather is wrenching out of her grasp and rising to her feet, her expression one of unperturbed horror.  
“Heather, what-,”  
Heather doesn’t say anything. She smoothens out her dress and turns away, taking long strides towards the stairs. Veronica sits and blankly watches her before her mind kicks her into action and jumps up to chase after her.  
“Heather, wait a second-,”  
Heather is already halfway down the stairs. On the landing the party had felt so far away but now, as she tumbles after the other girl, the loud noise and raucous atmosphere seem almost overwhelming. She follows Heather into the kitchen, pushes through the throngs of their unsuspecting classmates to keep up with her. Nobody pays them any heed. Nobody sees the panic in Heather’s eyes or the confusion etched on Veronica’s face.  
She reaches out to grasp Heather’s arm but she wrenches her off. The aggressive action causes Veronica stumble and as she sloppily tries to steady herself the drink in her hand goes flying, almost in slow motion, out of her grasp and all over the girl in red. Somehow, the entire party goes silent. Or at least, Veronica thinks it does. Her jaw drops and she raises her eyes to find Heather leering at her, anger ablaze, her dress and her hair dripping.  
“Holy shit,” someone says, somewhere behind her. “Oh, fuck.”  
Fuck is right. Veronica looks at the demon queen with murder in her glare and whatever confusion she had been feeling dissolves into unbidden terror.  
“Oh, God, I-,”  
“You fucking idiot,” she snarls, and takes a step forward. It’s somehow hard to believe she was about to kiss this girl only seconds ago.  
I almost kissed Heather Chandler, her mind screams. And now she’s going to crucify me.  
“Chandler-,”  
“You’re fucking dead, Sawyer.”  
It’s the last thing Veronica hears before she runs.

#

Veronica stumbles out of the 7/11 for the second time in twelve hours, regretting, not for the first time, that she hasn’t brought a jacket. She chugs back a mouthful of water and wipes away the dribbles that trickle down her chin before letting out a dramatic sigh that nobody else is around to hear. In hindsight coming to 7/11 was really a waste of time when all she had change to buy was water and she has a limitless supply of that at home but there’s something stopping her from heading back in that direction just yet. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows going to bed is a smart idea- she can sleep off the immense feeling of dread that’s coiled its way around her heart, wake up with a fresh head. In the morning she will feel a little better. And yet Veronica just can’t bring herself to do it. It’s still so early, sometime after one, and she likes Sherwood at this hour. Quiet and desolate.  
Later on Veronica will struggle to remember just why her feet begin to wander in the direction of Heather Chandler’s house. It isn’t a conscious decision, by any means. She simply starts to walk and that’s where her feet take her. And then all of a sudden she’s standing outside the ostentatious mansion, the Chandler wealth looming over her almost tauntingly, and it clicks with her just what she had to do.  
Apologize. Why didn’t she think of that earlier?  
It’s been a few hours, surely, since she signed her death warrant. Surely Heather has calmed down.  
Veronica looks at the front door of the house and decides against knocking, on the fear that one of Heather’s mysterious parents might answer. She knows where Heather’s bedroom is and with a determined expression she opts to scale the tree outside of her window. With every second that passes she finds herself cursing the mythic bitch just a little bit more.  
Jesus, it isn’t as if she actually likes her or anything. Veronica isn’t entirely sure she gives a shit what Chandler thinks of her. But she knows she can’t just leave it be- not when Monday is so soon and with Monday will come her inevitable demise. She knows what fate befalls those Heather Chandler considered an enemy, and Christ she’d take anything over that. She’ll beg, she’ll grovel- she’ll kiss her feet if that’s what it takes to avoid certain doom. Being a nobody is shit but being an ex-somebody-  
Veronica isn’t sure what she expected when she reaches the window but being faced with a fully lit room and a very angry Heather Chandler staring at her certainly isn’t it. She lifts up a hand in greeting and winces, trying to keep a steady grip on the tree keeping her from a broken neck. Chandler storms forward and snaps the window open. Veronica barely has time to brace herself before a hand is grasping her collar and dragging her inside forcefully so that she falls to the ground with a thump.  
There’s a pregnant pause. Veronica sits up and rubs at the back of her head before glancing up at the other girl looming over her. If she had been angry before…  
“What the fuck is your damage?” She growls out, baring her teeth. How is she so hot even when she looks so vicious? She’s wearing a nightgown so short it can’t possibly be considered a nightgown, and her face is wiped clean of makeup. Veronica spends a few seconds taking in her appearance and hates the knot that tightens in her stomach at the sight. I nearly kissed this girl, she reminds herself. Her eyes seem so much softer without the layers of makeup she usually wears, even if they’re ablaze with fury right now, and she looks a few years younger, too. A little closer to her actual age. God, she’s stunning.  
“Hi, Heather…”  
“You have two fucking seconds to explain yourself before I call the police, Sawyer.”  
“I know it’s- you know- weird, that I just climbed through your window- but it seemed like a good idea five minutes ago.”  
Heather puts her hands on her hips and Veronica makes a feeble attempt at rising to her feet. “And why is that?”  
Veronica shrinks back down. “I- well- I thought I should… Apologize.”  
“Apologize,” she deadpans.  
“Yeah! For- um- earlier.”  
In some ways Veronica would prefer to be met with screaming. Heather’s clenched teeth and low tone is far more chilling. At least if Heather screamed she could scream back at her. There’s another long drawn out pause before Heather exhales through her nose and turns around, allowing Veronica the chance to clamber upright and straighten out her crooked dress. Heather sits down on the edge of her bed, crossing her sinfully long, bare legs.  
It amazes Veronica that Heather has managed to come home, shower, and change, all in the same time it took her to buy a bottle of water. Maybe she had been wandering the streets a lot longer than she thought.  
Heather raises an eyebrow. “I’m waiting.”  
“Right. Well. I just wanted to apologize for, yano, spilling my drink on you.”  
“Drinks,” She corrects. “You spilled your drinks on me.”  
“Yeah.” Veronica nods a little too quickly and the room around her seems to turn for a second. “I wanted to apologize for that.”  
Heather sighs. “Is that it?”  
“Maybe. Should I um… Apologise for… You know… The other thing?”  
“Fucking hell, Sawyer. You’re pathetic.”  
“I am?”  
“You broke into my house in the middle of the night for… that?”  
“Um, well, I-,”  
“You’re a mess. I mean- you really are. You were sloppy as hell all night, grinding up on sweaty assholes and shouting out the wrong lyrics to every song at the top of your voice. And then you spilled your drinks all over me without a single goddamn apology.” If this was a cartoon Veronica is certain there’d be steam coming out of Heather’s ears. “And then- and then you run. You just ran. Who does that? You ran away leaving me standing there covered in your cheap vodka and coke with everyone laughing their asses off.”  
“I was just… I was scared.”  
“And now, to top it all off- you break into my house still drunk and looking like a fucking hobo to deliver the worst apology I’ve ever had the displeasure of hearing.”  
Veronica bows her head sheepishly. Wow, Heather has a point. “I’m sorry, Heather.”  
She braces herself for another torrent of insults and a flurry of rage but is met with a defeated sigh. “Whatever, Sawyer.”  
Veronica’s head snaps up. “What?”  
“I said, whatever.”  
She frowns, looking at the Demon Queen perched on the edge of the bed. “You’re not going to… kill me? Feed me to the lions?”  
Heather doesn’t meet her gaze, choosing instead to examine her nails with failed nonchalance. “It’s whatever. I didn’t like the dress that much anyway.”  
“But… I embarrassed you and ran away and damaged the Heather’s image.”  
Heather smirks, her lips quirking up. “And you will be punished aptly for that come Monday.”  
“So you don’t hate me now?”  
“It was just a dress.”  
She pauses, scanning over Veronica quickly. Veronica knows she looks like shit with her mussed hair and her now askew clothing. There’s no real judgement in Heather’s gaze, though. “What were you planning on doing after your lame apology?”  
“I, er- I didn’t think I’d live long enough to see an ‘after’.”  
Heather stands up, hands on her hips once again. Veronica curses whatever cretin designed Heather’s short crimson nightgown. “You can’t walk home. You’re not pissed anymore but you’re still drunk, and if you wind up dead I’ll definitely be their number one suspect.” Her forehead crinkles. “You can stay in one of our guestrooms.”  
“What? Are you sure? You don’t have to-,”  
“So long as you’re gone by morning, that is. The last thing I want when I wake up with a hangover is to be faced with you.”  
Veronica grins bashfully. “Well thanks, then, I guess.”  
Heather heads into her walk-in closet and reappears a moment later, tossing a pair of royal blue pyjama shorts and a tank top in her direction. “I’ll leave you to get changed,” she says. “I’m gonna go see if we’ve any more drink downstairs. Christ knows I need one after dealing with you.”  
As soon as she leaves Veronica lets out a breath she hasn’t realised she was holding, shaking her head as she quickly goes through the events of the night. She committed social suicide and lived to tell the tale. She embarrassed Heather fucking Chandler and now she’s standing in the same girl’s bedroom only a few hours later with an invitation to stay over- something she knows from the other Heathers is a rare occurrence indeed. Heather had been so angry and then suddenly not angry at all… the speed with which she changes emotions would give anyone whiplash. Veronica strips off her top and then her bra, so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t hear the soft knock on the door before it swings open.  
“Holy fucking Christ!” Heather exclaims, standing only a few feet away with two glasses, a bottle of rum, and two cans of coke in her hand, and eyes as wide as saucers. Veronica simply gapes back at her before remembering she’s topless and immediately lifts the top to cover herself, blushing profusely. The door slams shut and she races to get changed, cursing herself for her stupidity. Once she’s suitably dressed she opens the door again to find Heather standing outside, her face almost the colour of her nightgown, sipping on a glass as if that might hide whatever she’s thinking.  
Veronica grits her teeth, looking down at the ground.  
“I knocked,” Heather mutters, staring down at the same spot.  
“I didn’t hear. I- er- sorry.”  
“I’m the one that’s sorry. I didn’t-,”  
“Does that make us even then?” Veronica supresses a grin. “I spill coke all over you, you see me topless?”  
Heather scoffs, rolling her eyes. She pushes past Veronica into her bedroom. “Funny, Sawyer. Real funny.”  
Veronica followes her back inside, shutting the door behind her. She knows she’s to sleep in one of the infinite number of guest rooms but she isn’t at all tired, and judging by the generous amount of rum she’s pouring out she figures Heather probably isn’t either. Heather sits down on her bed again, this time with her back against a pillow, and Veronica decides to sit next to her. Her bed is as soft as she would have imagined, plush and comfortable. Only the best for Heather Chandler.  
“You know what’s kinda funny?” She says, handing Veronica one of the glasses.  
“What?”  
“I’m the only person who’s ever seen you without your top on now.”  
In spite of herself, Veronica snorts. She glances up and sees amusement dancing in Chandler’s grey eyes. “Oh, fuck you.”  
“McNamara’s plan to get you laid worked out about as well as I would have expected.”  
“Oh well.” She raises an eyebrow. “The night’s still young, isn’t it?”  
Something falters in Heather’s expression but she smoothens out her features almost instantly, clearing her throat. There’s a quiet pause before she speaks. “What?”  
“I just meant- I was joking, I meant I could leave here and, I dunno- go find wherever that new kid Jason Dean is.”  
“Oh.” Heather shifts on the bed and lets out a humourless chuckle. “What do you even like about him anyway?”  
“I never said I liked him. I just… Think he’s good looking. Compared to the rest of the guys in Westerberg, at least.”  
“That’s what you consider good looking? He looks like a school shooter!”  
“I never- I just mean that for a guy, he’s not ugly or anything.”  
“And what, all other guys are?” Heather raises an eyebrow and takes a long drink. “Sawyer, are you a lesbian?”  
“What?” Veronica’s eyes widen and she spits out the tiny bit of rum in her mouth. “No- That’s not what I meant! I’m not a lesbian. That’s- what?”  
Heather is smirking again. “It would make a lot of sense, if you were. Why you dress like someone’s decrepit grandmother, why you’ve never slept with anyone, why you stood in my room topless waiting for me to come back in-,”  
“That’s not what happened!” She forces herself not to think of how her entire body had seemed to buzz with something inexplicable when they sat together on Ram’s landing. Or of the definitely less than appropriate thoughts she has had concerning the very girl next to her.  
“I’m teasing you, Sawyer. Don’t be a pillowcase.”  
“Oh.” Veronica scratches the back of her head, aware that her cheeks are a little pink. “’Cause like. I’m not.” She glances up at Heather again. Her expressions are so hard to read. “I, um- I’m sorry you didn’t get laid tonight, either.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Heather said the other day that you haven’t been with anyone in a while, and I thought… Well I feel bad that you didn’t get with anyone tonight and had to leave early ‘cause I spilt my drink- drinks- on you.”  
“You’re such a pillowcase, Sawyer. Why would you listen to Duke? I’m not some deranged whore who’s desperate to get fucked.”  
“I never said you were. I just meant… If you had been hoping to get laid, I’m sorry that I fucked it.”  
Heather studies her closely for a long moment with her disturbingly perceptive eyes. While it was a bit unnerving to know that she was constantly under the blonde girl’s scrutiny at first, Veronica has actually grown to enjoy the feeling of Heather’s eyes on her. Never in a million years would she ever have expected to find herself in the company of Westerberg Royalty. Simply knowing that Heather deems her worthy of so much attention is awe inspiring, really.  
Veronica reaches across for the bottle in Heather’s lap and pours out a fair amount into her glass. The comfortable haze from earlier in the night is beginning to wash over her once again.  
“Did something happen earlier? With Duke?” Veronica frowns and takes a sip. “You seemed a bit... Tense, with her.”  
“Nothing happened with Duke.”  
“You know you can tell me, if something did happen.”  
Heather bites her lip and examines her closely before she shrugs. “She was just trying to get a rise out of me. That’s all.”  
“When she said you were generous? You know, when she said that- She sounded sarcastic. I don’t know why she’d be sarcastic.” Veronica’s nose crinkles in confusion. “I think you’re generous.”  
“Do I look like Mother Theresa to you? I’m not generous.”  
“Yeah you are! You always pay for my thingies.”  
“I just don’t want you to be left out, is all.”  
“Isn’t that being generous, though? If you were as mean as everyone thinks you are you wouldn’t care about leaving me out.”  
Heather’s face flushes a little and it makes Veronica’s heart skip. She feels so comfortable sitting here with Heather- something she never would have expected only a few weeks earlier. It’s so easy to be around Heather when they’re alone, just the two of them. She isn’t nearly as snappy or irritable without Duke, or as bossy without Mac. Definitely not nearly as cruel as she is with an audience. “I am as mean as they think I am. I can’t having you parading around in rags or eating cheap sandwiches for lunch. We have an image to maintain.”  
Veronica doesn’t notice just how sharp Heather’s words are and decides to press on, teasing her. “You didn’t need to let me in the group in the first place. I think- I think maybe you actually like me.”  
There’s a sudden silence. Veronica smiles unsuspectingly as Heather’s breath hitches, and her voice is a little quiet when she mumbles in response. “Go fuck yourself, Sawyer. I don’t like you.”  
“Yeah you do! We’re friends. Bestie friends.”  
“I barely tolerate you.”  
“You always do nice things for me.”  
“I’m just about civil with you.”  
“You give me lifts everywhere.”  
“I can just about put up with you.”  
“You think I’m funny.”  
“I think you’re a dork.”  
“I’m really smart and witty.”  
“You’re awkward and embarrassing.”  
“I’m a ray of sunshine.”  
Heather doesn’t retort. She watches her intently once again and on the one hand Veronica wishes she would stop studying her so damn much. On the other hand, she wants her to never stop. They’re quiet for a long moment and Veronica can see the rise and fall of Heather’s chest, the way she’s inhaling almost carefully- as if trying to control every breath. Eventually she speaks, her voice cautious and tentative. Not at all like the Chandler Veronica knows. “Do you want to make it up to me?” she asks.  
“Make what up?”  
“Your little fuck-up at the party.”  
“Didn’t you already forgive me?”  
“Yes,” she murmurs, “But your apology was shit, and you ruined my night, like you said. Do you want to make it up to me?”  
For once in her life Veronica actually manages to grasp the hidden meaning behind Heather’s words. They both sit in silence, watching the other for any hint of movement. It’s so quiet Veronica would swear she can hear the pounding of Heather’s heart- or maybe it’s her own, threatening to burst out from her chest. Surely she doesn’t- not Heather Chandler, heterosexuality personified. No, she tells herself when Heather’s eyes flicker down to her lips, she definitely does. The swirling thoughts going through the back of her mind bring her back to that day two months in the bathroom when she was forced to make the life altering decision to become a Heather. So many thoughts fly through her mind and there isn’t enough time to make sense of them. Should she? She really shouldn’t. Does she want to? God, she thinks she does.  
All she knows for certain is that she’s sitting in Heather Chandler’s bed drinking Heather Chandler’s alcohol staring at Heather Chandler. All she knows is that her heart is beating way too fast for this to be normal and her entire body is tingling and her eyes are willing themselves shut. All she knows is that something- fate, perhaps, if she believed in such a thing- drove her here tonight and surely the way Chandler is looking at her now is far from innocent and oh God she’s fairly certain she just knocked her half empty glass on the ground-  
And then, before she can even begin to process what’s happening, Heather Chandler kisses her.


End file.
